I Bathe Quite Frequently
by sandra70
Summary: Neverland: the evening before the big showdown with Pan, Emma needs a break from everybody and decides to take a swim in the nearby lake. Obviously, someone else had that idea too...


The evening before the big show down with Pan was about to take place, Emma left the camp and took a walk to the nearby lake all by herself. This goddamn jungle was too fucking crowded; she needed time to herself, time away from the others – air to breathe. This was all too much. She wanted to forget everything, to stop thinking about tactics, strategy and danger for a while.

And she felt the urging need to put some distance between herself and the rest of their rescue party – she wasn't in the mood for either of their company. She was sick and tired of Regina's complaining that they'd have rescued Henry already a long time ago if they'd only let her unleash all her magic; her snarky, disdainful comments about their useless efforts were all but helpful. Neal made her feel uncomfortable with his eyes constantly searching hers, always trying to get near her, always throwing some dumb, puerile lines the pirate's way. Sometimes he even acted like he was entitled to something, and that was something Emma really couldn't stand. Yes, he was Henry's father, and part of her would always love him, but there was no going back from the place they were now. At the same time, she still felt a little guilty for feeling that way. Her parents – she'd just started to feel sort of like a daughter, and then her mother confessed that she wanted to try for another child, like _she_ wasn't enough. _Again_. A fucking pattern in her messed-up life. Would there ever be someone in her life content with just having _her_ , and nothing more? Would she, and she _alone_ , ever be sufficient for someone? Probably not.

While walking towards the lake deep in thoughts, she pulled the tank top over her head; it was almost like she could already feel the cool water on her heated skin, washing away at least part of the fear, the sorrow and the pain she'd gone through these last few days.

Only when she'd already stepped out of the jungle and onto the shoreline of the lake, she noticed that its surface wasn't as calm and smooth as it should have been, and the quietude of the dusk was interrupted by the sounds of splashing water and an unknown, but not unpleasant tune hummed in a low, husky, all to familiar voice. _Oh shit._ Emma stopped dead in her tracks. _Hook._

Hastily, she retreated a few steps into the covert, and the rustling of the leaves she brushed sounded terribly loud in her own ears. When she thought she was safely hidden again, she craned her neck to peek through the green. Had she been hoping that he was still far from the shore – which would eventually have given her the time to quietly retreat and disappear where she'd come from without being noticed – well, she was royally mistaken. What she saw was Hook already slowly approaching the shore, still under water up to his chest, but emerging from the water more and more with each step. Every instinct in her screamed to turn around and run away, but she was sure he would have noticed, and then it was too late, so she just stood there paralyzed. She wanted to avert her gaze, but for some uncomfortably urgent reason she just _couldn't_ , and for one second she almost blurted out in hysterical laughter when her own words from some time back flew through her mind: _don't think I'm taking my eyes off you for one second..._

She swallowed dryly and let her gaze sweep nervously over his outlines. Even through the many layers of clothing he used to wear, it had been obvious that his shoulders were broad and rounded, and now she had the proof. He'd been wearing his hook even during the bath – because as a pirate he was familiar with always having to be prepared for a fight, especially in a hostile surrounding like Neverland. His arms were well-toned and strong, and with interest she noticed that the leather sheath holding his metal attachment covered his left forearm almost up to the elbow. He was wearing his necklace, and the charms were dangling amidst his wet chest hair... his _abundant_ chest hair. This wasn't exactly a new sight to her, with him always parading around in his ridiculously unbuttoned shirts. What was new that now she saw that his whole chest was sprinkled with it whereas along his stomach it was more limited to the middle where it was trailing down in a dark line – and _why the hell_ could she even see that far? Emma realized that he had gotten closer to the shore, emerging more and more from the water in the process, and – _fuck_ – she could already see his bellybutton.

 _Oh sweet Lord, please no,_ she thought. _I really, really don't need to see this. Any of it. I mean, please, surely he's wearing some sort of undergarment, right? Right? Please, let him wear warmers. Anything._ Two more steps, and it became clear that he hadn't bothered with such a thing.

 _Of course, I could just look away. I could. It's easy. I'll just close my eyes or turn my head, and..._ except, she didn't. _Couldn't._ She tried to convince herself that it didn't really matter, because in the meantime the sun had almost completely set, and it was already too dark to really _see_ anything properly... not that she _wanted_ to see anything properly, mind you. On the other hand, the moon was already out, nearly a full moon, and it cast enough blueish light for her to have one thought shoot through her mind: _isn't that lake water supposed to be cold?_

With big effort, Emma finally managed to tear her eyes away from Hook's lean, wet body that had now completely emerged from the water, and she felt the embarrassing, flaming heat in her cheeks. She would have been stupid or delusional to deny the physical attraction that had been simmering between them for quite some time and that had blazed the way in their insane, heated kiss five days ago. After that, however, she'd suppressed whatever it was that she felt and had completely focused on the goal of finding her son. But that didn't mean that in her dreams she hadn't grabbed those lapels over and over again, yanking him towards her, crushing her lips to his, this time not stopping there. In her dreams, she'd pulled him down with her until the weight of his body pressed her firmly into the ground, pinning her down in a way that aroused and soothed her at the same time. Then, she usually woke up in a sweat, threw a quick guilty look at him and usually, when he wasn't asleep, he was watching her with an unreadable expression. She always quickly turned around and pretended to fall asleep again, but she never did. Throughout the days she suppressed and pushed away those thoughts, but during the nights her fantasies roamed freely. What had been bubbling underneath the surface all the time came back with might now, that nothing had been left to her imagination.

She stared down at her hands that were crumpling her tank top she'd just taken off. _Oh God_ , and here she was, _ogling_ a naked Hook, clad just in her bra... even if he couldn't see her, somehow that fact just doubled her embarrassment. Emma was sure she'd never be able again to look at him without blushing, without _imagining_. She threw a furtive glance in his direction and saw with fresh horror that he was walking over the sandy riparian strip – yes, of course his legs would be long and muscular too – in her direction in all his naked glory. Emma drew in a deep breath and held it; why _the hell_ was he coming her way? Quickly, she scanned the shoreline with her eyes, and her heart sank when she saw the noticeable pile of black clothes – most of it leather, and neatly folded – maybe only sixteen feet away from her. And that was where he was headed.

Emma was trapped; there was no way she could retreat deeper into the forest without being noticed by him. _Might as well risk another look_ , the little devil on her left shoulder whispered innocently into her ear. _Don't even go there_ , replied the little angel on her right shoulder, but only very feebly. She let her bated breath out very slowly and quietly and turned her eyes to him again, scanning his physique from his feet upwards, decently blinking though when her wandering gaze passed the center of his body. From this short distance she could see the tiny, glittering droplets of water running from his hair over his face and along his strong jaw, down his long neck and along his collarbones where they united in that little nook at the base of his throat and clung there for a moment before they finally traveled downward, disappearing into his chest hair where they were trapped and sat there like diamonds. Damn, his pecs were really nicely defined, weren't they? Without even noticing, she ran her tongue over her lips and told herself that the reason for it was simply that they were dry as sandpaper, nothing else.

Hook had reached his clothes – finally – and leaned down to pick up his pants, and she closed her eyes in relief for a moment. When she reopened them, she almost gasped for air because now he had turned his back on her. She could clearly see the muscles rolling and twitching underneath his skin as he slipped one leg after the other in the leather garment, using his hook as deftly as his hand in the process. Emma spotted a scar on his right shoulder blade, and briefly she wondered what the old cut would feel like if she ran her fingertips over it. _And God_ , his backside... she'd seen him a few times without his long coat, and the leather pants weren't good at hiding the perfection of his outlines, but nothing could have prepared her for _that_ glorious sight. And then it was covered by black leather, and he turned a little so she could see his profile, sharply contrasted by the bright moonlight. He started to fasten his pants with the leather laces, and Emma was fascinated about how he could do it so quickly and precisely, having only one hand. _His fingers must be really skilled_ , flew through her mind before she could stop herself from thinking it. _Not helpful_. She shook her head at herself; good thing this incident would be over in less than a few minutes, and then she could forget it had ever happened.

A slight smile curled his lips, and she wondered what he was thinking about, when he opened his mouth and said into the night: "Enjoying the view, Swan?"

Emma's eyes popped almost out of her head, and at first she thought she hadn't heard right, but then he turned around to her and looked _right into her eyes_ from the distance, right through that miserable hiding of hers. A red hot bolt of lightning shot straight into her stomach from the shame of obviously being busted, and her mind raced and stumbled for a moment, thoughts fluttering hectically around in her head like a caged bird. But her usually witty brain was simply blank. There was nothing she could think of to make this situation less embarrassing; pretending she wasn't there would only make it worse.

So, she stepped out of the shadows reluctantly, her eyes fixed on his devilishly amused face, and raised her chin. Attack was the best defense. "I was doing nothing of the sort," she replied a little haughtily, ignoring the hot blush that crept over her face. "I just... I mean, you..." she stuttered and pulled herself together: "You could have _warned_ me," she accused him, "instead of just... parading around like..." vaguely she waved her hand at him.

"I was innocently taking a _bath_ , Swan." He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, motioning at her with his hand. " _You_ could have turned around and walk away instead of just standing there and taking advantage, that would have been good form." He smirked in that infuriating way of his, and his tongue darted out and moistened his lips. "Not that I'm complaining." He ran his eyes down from her face, letting her know that he'd definitely noticed her clothing situation; she blushed even more. In her mind, she heard him add: _about bloody time._

"Taking advantage?" she echoed in a piqued voice. "Please. I didn't even watch. I had barely arrived."

He ran his hand through his wet hair, leaving it stand up in hazardous spikes. "You were lurking," he replied matter-of-factly, not hiding his benevolent amusement, and with three long steps he was within her reach, almost in her personal space.

"I was not!" Emma snapped. "Damn, Hook, it's not always about _you_!" she threw at him. "I wasn't even looking where I was going, I just needed to get away from everybody, I was looking for a little distraction! Is that so hard to understand?!" She was startled about how fragile and upset her own voice sounded.

Hook smiled, his expression bare of any amusement now, and remarked quietly, almost a little self-satisfied: "And what could be more distracting than a little fight?"

She frowned. Was he telling her that he'd just provoked a little skirmish to distract her at least a little from her inner turmoil? She sighed, suddenly feeling terribly tired, and rubbed her hand over her eyes. After a short pause she shrugged and waved her hand apologetically. "I'm... I'm sorry," she told him to her own surprise, looking down at her feet. "I suppose I was taking it out on the wrong person."

He tilted his head just a little. "That's alright, love," he replied calmly. "I'm good at taking." Her eyes shot up at him, and he smirked and added: "Blows, I meant." She snorted a little laugh at his teasing and shook her head at him, then her smile faded away again. He raised his left arm and smoothed out her hair with his hook. "You're worried." It was an observation, not a question.

Emma averted her eyes again. "I'm scared," she admitted, surprising herself again. She hadn't intended to reveal that much of her worries, her vulnerability – especially not to him. But then again, didn't he seem to know anyway? She remembered what he'd told her while they'd been climbing up that beanstalk... that she was like an open book to him.

Hook finally stepped into her personal space, like he did so often. Weirdly enough, that had made her never really uncomfortable. "Swan." he addressed her in a low, calm voice. "Tomorrow you will rescue your son, and we will bring you all home. I thought we'd established that already."

She shrugged in frustration. "Yeah, you told me that. But I still don't know what makes you so sure that I won't fail."

"Because you have a quality that Pan is lacking, love," came his reply without hesitation.

She looked up at him in question, her eyes begging him for an answer, for an encouragement that she hadn't been able to find with anybody else. "What's that?" she asked.

He tilted his head in a shrug. "Pan might be dangerous and powerful," he said, "but in the end, he's only a vicious, self-centered child." Emma pressed her lips together in frustration. "But you," he went on, "you _care_ about people, and that makes you strong." His gaze was holding hers, and she literally hung on to every word he was saying. "You care about your son, you care about your parents, your friends, the Queen..." He raised his eyebrows. "You even care about me," he added with the tiniest smile.

She raised her chin again in that stubborn way of hers. "You think I do?"

"I know you do." He tapped his ringed index finger softly to her nose, and she didn't flinch. "And you can crinkle your nose and deny it all you want," he told her, "but don't forget that I'm quite perceptive too, love."

Emma dropped her gaze wearily; she felt desperate and lost and upset. Her fists were clenched at her sides, and Hook could see her body vibrate with tension, like a bowstring ready to snap, like it was almost too much to bear for her alone: this woman was utterly shaken, and he knew instinctively that as much as her parents loved her, they would never fully understand her. In their lives, they had gone through their own share of ordeals, and they never seemed to be over; but still, Emma Swan's pain was her very own, and as far as he knew, she had no one in her life who was able to understand her. His heart, etched with its own scars, ached for her. Feeling the need to do something, to signalize to her that she was not alone, that she didn't _have_ to be alone, he slowly reached out for her; tentatively, he put his hook to her right hip and nudged her only the tiniest bit towards him, not sure at all what her reaction would be. He braced himself for receiving a slap, a push, a rash answer... but nothing of all that happened. Almost to his surprise, after perhaps a split second of hesitation, she followed the slight pull and stepped nearer, standing directly before him now, her eyes still averted; she was so close that he could smell her hair. Carefully, he raised his other arm and put his hand on her upper back, between her shoulder blades, enveloping her in an embrace – and she accepted it. More, she even seemed to welcome it, leaned into him and allowed him to hold her.

Suddenly, she'd felt so tired of it all, so desperate and weary, that every bit of energy seemed to have left her. From the corners of her averted eyes Emma saw the slow movement of his hook and, a moment later, felt the rigid metal touch her right hip very carefully, exercising a pressure so slight that it was barely perceptible. It wasn't an urge, it was more of an invitation, an _offer_. She wasn't sure what he was offering, but her instincts told her to just accept it, even if it was only for one fleeting moment. So, she took one step closer, and there was barely a hand's breadth distance between their bodies now. When Hook placed his hand on her back and enveloped her in a loose embrace, much to her own surprise she found herself leaning in a little closer, almost steadying herself against him.

She felt his hand glide upwards and gently cup the back of her head, his fingertips lightly caressing the nape of her neck. There was nothing sexual about this embrace, nothing like what had transpired during their heated kiss; still, this contact was so much more intimate. Slowly, Emma unclenched her fists and slipped her hands around his naked waist without even thinking twice about it. The soothing warmth of his body seeped through his skin that still bore the coolness of the lake water. She spread her fingers like wings and let her palms rest on his back, feeling the muscles twitch underneath the cool skin. Emma rested her temple against his scruffy jaw, her cheek leaning against the side of his neck. Immediately, she closed her eyes and involuntarily breathed out a sigh of relief. She didn't understand what was happening here, but she didn't fucking care. She only understood that hearing his heartbeat, feeling it thrum against her cheek, calmed her down somehow; staying here in his arms made her feel safe and protected from all the bullshit that was going on in her life – not only the hazardous quest to get Henry back, but also all the crap that had been going on with her parents, her father's lie, her mother's confession in the Echo Cave... and in some crazy way it felt like she _belonged_ there, and Emma Swan had _never_ belonged anywhere.

And Hook was nothing but a pirate, a rogue, a scoundrel, dangerously attractive and one hell of a kisser, _yes_ , but obviously never to be trusted – and yet, here he was, risking his life for her son, a child he barely knew, saving her father's life when there was nothing for him to gain. Since she'd boarded his ship in Storybrooke, he'd been nothing but supportive... and obviously, he had feelings for her that went beyond the undeniable physical attraction that had been hovering between them since the day they'd met, if she was honest. Emma recalled his confession from the Echo Cave and his almost terrifying vow from the day after, when he'd promised he would _win her heart_ , using outdated words like the three hundred years old man that he was. She knew he hadn't been lying – he'd really meant it. This had been the first time in a long time she could remember that someone, a _man_ , had made her feel like she was a hard piece of work – and she knew she _was_ – but that he still was in it for the long haul because she was _worth_ it. And Emma Swan had never been _worth_ it.

Suddenly, she felt the need to look into his eyes, maybe to make sure that she wasn't fantasizing all these things, make sure that they were really there, even if she didn't know what to do with it. She tilted her head back and immediately, he let his hand sink but didn't take it away; it rested against her left shoulder now. Her eyes searched his, and he returned her look quietly, calmly. Hook didn't smile, but the fine skin around these way too blue eyes crinkled a little, and she realized that he _was_ smiling, but it was a smile only she could see. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, those perfect lips that were so skilled in throwing innuendos and sassy lines, but even more in kissing; they were slightly parted, as if he was about to say something, and she could see the glistening tip of his tongue move restlessly behind his teeth, looking _so_ inviting as she remembered the taste of his lips and tongue against her hungry mouth. Suddenly, she felt the urge to just grab him and kiss him like that day before, but as his chest was bare, there was nothing she could grab, no coat lapels, no vest – not even a shirt she could claw her hands into. No, if she was going to kiss him she'd need to put in a little more effort than just yank him towards her and wait for the impact – she needed to _come to him_ this time – deliberately, purposely. Because he surely didn't look like he was going to make a move. _It will be because you want me._

And so, Emma stood on her tiptoes and brought her face close to his, very close, while he just stood there without moving, watching her come nearer and nearer. When their lips finally touched, almost carefully at first, she closed her eyes and sank against him, letting her entire body mold into his. The touch of his lips was warm, reassuring, electrifying, and he responded to her mouth immediately. This kiss was totally different than the one they'd shared before; at first it was much slower, more tender. She took her time exploring his mouth, savoring him with every tug of her lips, every stroke of her tongue, and he seemed to remain more passive this time. But then he put his hand into her hair again, enacting only the slightest pressure to change the angle of her head a little so that he could deepen the kiss and repay her ministrations in kind. That was the moment when her dam broke.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, combed her fingers through his still damp hair, and pressed her body close into his, her breasts against his bare chest where there were still droplets of water clinging to his body hair, seeping through the fabric of her bra now. She didn't even bother to try and tell herself that it was the cool lake water that caused her nipples to harden; she knew that it was not. It was _Hook_ , it was his body, his touch that caused sinful desire to pulsate through her veins and made her head spin. Emma rolled her hips against his and felt _his_ desire now, rigid and unmistakable, and _oh God_ , she had never in her life craved a man like she was craving him now. She disentangled her fingers from his hair and brought them down, ran them along his torso, delighting in the feeling of the chest hair against the soft flesh of her palms, his rippling muscles, and she almost laughed in triumph against his lips when her searching fingers found the laces of his pants and started to tug at them. Emma couldn't believe what she was doing, and she didn't want to analyze it or think about it, she just wanted to feel him, to feel _it_ , like he'd promised once: _when I jab you with my sword, you'll feel it._ And she couldn't wait to feel it. She couldn't wait to sink down to the ground of this jungle with him, to take him on all his innuendos, to let him take _her_ , ravish her, make her feel, make her forget. But then suddenly, she felt something else: his hand and his hook at her wrists, stopping her. And he broke the kiss – not abruptly, but he definitely pulled back and murmured her name.

"Swan..."

She tried to ignore the interruption and went after his lips in an attempt to capture them again with hers, trying to free her hands from his grip and go for his pants again, but his hold was firm and determined, she had no chance against his strength. He tilted his head back again and ended the kiss. "No," he told her firmly. "Not like that."

She was confused and, yes, also hurt. "But don't you..."

"More than you know, Swan," he replied softly and rested his hook lightly on her hip again, letting go of her wrists. "I can't even begin to tell you how much I desire to kiss you, to make you shiver under my touch..." he raised his hand to her face and brushed his fingertips tenderly along her cheekbone, and she closed her eyes and shivered indeed, before he finished in a hoarse voice: "...to bury myself inside you until you scream my name."

She swallowed hard, and her eyes flew open again and fixed on his face; his eyes were of a deep midnight blue now, laced with desire, but also something more. "Then why don't you?" she asked feebly, the need still raw in her voice.

"Because now is not the moment," he said with definite regret in his voice and let one of her locks run through his fingers, not yet ready to break the contact. "You came here for comfort," he went on. "It might surprise you, but it's not in my code to take advantage of a woman like that." He tilted his head. "Especially not when I..." He stopped himself and fell silent, not wanting to add more weight to what was already burdening her; he averted his eyes for a moment.

And finally Emma understood, and hot tears were stinging in the corners of her eyes – tears of disappointment, of loss, but also of wonder and emotion, because she understood why: Hook wasn't turning her down because he didn't want her or because he hadn't meant what he'd said about winning her heart. He was turning her down because he _had_ meant what he'd said. He was turning her down because, despite he quite obviously craved her as much as she craved him in this moment, he knew this wouldn't really help her. It would soothe her ache and her mind right now, yes, but in the end it would burden her even more, add more confusion on top of her list. He was turning her down because maybe, just maybe, he thought she was _worth the wait_. She smiled at him with tears in her eyes and pouted in a miserable attempt at a joke.

"Some pirate," she huffed, but this time it was clearly not a term carelessly thrown at him to belittle him, he could feel that; it was more of an endearment, a compliment even.

He bumped her nose with his once more, and his voice was gentle and a little hoarse when he spoke again – giving away a bit of the churning seas inside him. "No trickery, remember?" That reminded her almost casually of his declaration from a few days ago, his declaration of – _of what?_ Emma looked at him wide-eyed, her expression almost terrified. Hook saw what was going through her mind and that it was too much for her right now and quickly decided to play it light and add a joke, a suggestive line like she'd have expected from him. "Taking you now, when you're..." – he ran his tongue over his full bottom lip; he just couldn't help it – "... _begging_ for it, wouldn't be fair fighting."

She didn't even blush; although he was right – she _had_ been begging for it – she wasn't even ashamed. She was still enveloped in his arms, even if the embrace was loose now, and – _fuck_ – her body was still humming with electricity and desire, but she still wasn't ashamed. It was totally weird, because normally she should feel like she'd never be able to look him in his damn blue eyes again after how she'd just acted, and if his innuendos became even more shameless now, she could only blame herself. But somehow, she had the feeling that he wouldn't use this against her. Much to her own surprise, Emma found that she trusted him that he wouldn't, and therefore, she felt okay. She wouldn't even have to tell him to forget what just had – _almost_ – happened between them; they'd just store it away and maybe, _just maybe_ – save it for later, for another time, another place. She was comfortable with him, and that felt good. Oddly enough, the truth was – nowadays Hook was the only one she was comfortable with.

"Right, I forgot..." she murmured, "you're all about the challenge."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I can assure you I'm all about the surrender, too, love. And you _will_ surrender." He smirked. "When I allow you to." Finally, he released her slowly, with some reluctance, and stepped back from her, picking up his shirt from the floor.

Emma rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile – she knew why he was doing this: he was trying to distract her from everything that made her feel so paralyzed and burdened, and which way could be better than their familiar bantering and teasing; and she appreciated it. Sometimes it was almost frightening how he seemed to "get" her, how good he seemed to instinctively understand what she needed. She crossed her arms and raised her chin. "You are _so_ annoying."

He tilted his head. "And I'd very much love to stay and annoy you a little more," he replied, "but I'd better return to the camp before the rest of our illustrious party starts to question our coincident absence." He slipped on his shirt and buttoned it halfway, then he put on his vest. She watched him quietly until he was done with everything, and he obviously enjoyed her scrutiny. When he slipped on his coat he addressed her again, a devilish twinkle in his eyes. "Don't follow me, wait five minutes." He motioned his hand nonchalantly in the direction of the water. "Go take a bath or something." She rolled her eyes again and shook her head at him, well aware of what he was doing, and he leaned a little forward and lowered his voice in a conspiratorial, yet mocking tone when he added: "I promise I won't even take a look." Then he winked at her and turned around.

Emma watched him for a few seconds, then she called: "Hook!"

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned around to look at her, an eyebrow raised in question. Suddenly, she felt silly, not even knowing why she'd stopped him. The words _thank you_ were on her lips, but somehow they sounded ridiculous to her own ears. _Thank you_ for what? For turning her down? Letting her make a fool of herself? Or giving her exactly what she needed so desperately – a little distraction, a little reassurance, a little light-heartedness. _A little hope_.

He saw that she was struggling with her own words and, again, made it easy for her. He pointed his ringed index finger in her direction. "If you don't return in a while, I'll come back for you."

When he was about to turn around again, the words tumbled from her mouth quickly, spontaneously, before she could bite them back: "Is that a threat?"

For a moment, he seemed to be taken aback by her words. They'd come out in a light and playful tone, but he knew where she came from, knew there was so much more behind these words than just a banter. As far as he knew, she wasn't used to people coming back for her. _Just a lost little girl who didn't matter and didn't think she ever would._ He tilted his head and pursed his lips into a lopsided smile that was bare of any mockery this time. "No, Swan," he told her calmly. "It's a promise."

And with that, he turned around and slowly sauntered away in his typical _make-room-for-the-Captain-_ swagger. Emma watched him for a while – and she was sure he _knew_ – and smiled to herself; a tiny smile of disbelief, amusement – and maybe something like a vague kind of hope.

With regard to the upcoming final fight to rescue Henry, she felt already much more confident, like a heavy weight had been lifted from her heart. Hook was right: Pan didn't really understand the impact of her motivation, because he cared only for himself. It was like she'd told Cora during their fight at Lake Nostos, when Regina's mother had tried to take her heart: love meant strength. She was powerful, because she wasn't motivated by hate or greed, she was motivated by love. Funny enough that it had taken a three hundred year old, formerly vengeful ruthless pirate to remind her of that. She started to realize that maybe there was more to him than that; a life that long had surely made for some layers on his soul, hiding his core from probing scrutiny and hurt, and part of her was wondering what one would find if they dared to peel them off one by one. _Just who are you, Hook?_

She threw one last glance in the direction where he'd left, but he had already disappeared from sight, his words hanging in the air behind him. _I'll come back for you. It's a promise._ That bastard.

He wouldn't make it easy for her to run.

Emma sighed and finally got rid of the rest of her clothes, quickly and determined to take her mind off the events of the past fifteen minutes, forcing herself to eliminate thoughts and images of what could have happened if Hook... well, if he hadn't been such a goddamn _gentleman_. She tied her hair into a ponytail and walked quickly into the water, hissing at its cold against her feverish skin. She swam into the deep water with a few strong strokes and cooled off at least a little. After she'd emerged from the water again, she contemplated for a moment to wait and see if Hook would really come back, but then she decided against it and went back to the camp, feeling indeed a little refreshed and more capable of handling what lay ahead.

When she approached the camp, Neal jumped to his feet. "Emma! Where did you go?" he demanded. "I was worried..."

"I just needed a bit of space," she replied almost curtly and waved him off. _If you were so worried, why didn't you come looking for me?_ The words were on her tongue, but she bit them back.

Noticing the reserved tone of her voice, he sat down again and fell silent, throwing her one more of his hurt looks. Determined not to let it get to her again, she ignored him, quickly scanning the camp for the figure in black. When she'd spotted him, she rounded the campfire and walked over to Hook who – as usually – was sitting a little apart from the others, on his leather coat spread on the floor. He was leaning against a trunk and looked at her quietly, a slight smile hidden in his handsome features. Mary Margaret's eyes followed her a little suspiciously, but she didn't say anything, as if she sensed that it would only upset her. Emma stopped beside Hook and looked down at him.

"Do you mind?"

Before she even had finished asking, he shifted already a little to the side, making room for her on the coat, and instead of a reply swayed out his arm in an inviting gesture with his little ironic head tilt/bow. She sat down beside him, and he handed her a coconut he'd opened with the sharp point of his hook; this time, instead of not facing him, she looked at him and smiled openly. "Thank you."

He nodded and briefly returned a lopsided smile. "Get some rest, Swan," he told her and then raised his voice to catch everybody's attention. "You all should. I'll stay awake and take the first shift."

"That won't be necessary," Regina commented curtly. "Gold and I cast a few protective spells."

Like most times, her haughty snark left him as unimpressed as almost everything – except for a pair of troubled green eyes looking at him like they were searching help and comfort. "Well, your Majesty, we all have our methods," he replied dryly. "And, with all due respect, you don't know this place. I do. And I say we keep watch."

"Hook's right," David threw in simply. "We'll do what he says." While Regina rolled her eyes, David nodded curtly to Hook. "I'll take the next turn." Then he turned around and lay down to sleep.

Emma said: "I'll stay on guard with you."

He contradicted firmly, almost in a commanding tone: "No, you won't, Swan. You'll need all your strength and wits tomorrow."

She contemplated objecting; but then she admitted to herself that he was right, and fuck, why not for once let someone take care of her... someone she trusted and who'd never forsaken her? Emma smiled again, an open, honest smile; maybe even a little shy. "Thank you," she replied quietly.

Hook raised an eyebrow in pleasant surprise, hiding it behind his usual cocky mask. "What for, love?"

She shrugged. "For everything." There was so much in her literally all-encompassing words, and he wasn't oblivious to it. Emma settled a little more comfortably against the trunk and, much to his surprise, laced her hand through his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder in a gesture that held some sort of a certain casual intimacy. "I'm glad you're here," she murmured.

He looked down at the crown of her head for a moment and smiled to himself before stretching out his long legs. "At your service, m'lady," he muttered under his breath, trying to hide how much her confession had touched him; and he could feel the muscles in her cheek flex against his upper arm when she smiled and snuggled – yes, _snuggled_ – a little closer.

Emma was half-sitting, half-lying on the ground of a hostile, surreal jungle, not knowing what the next day would bring and if she'd make it out of it alive, a trunk pressing into her back, she had to sleep in her clothes, and it was hot and rather uncomfortable – but she hadn't slept better and more calmly in years.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

This was written as a friendly writing challenge with **_lenfaz_** , as the result of a conversation about the 1991 movie Rocin Hood Prince Of Thieves where there's a scene with Kevin Costner taking a very similar bath and his Lady Marian looking on. Lena had the wicked idea of having our pirate take that bath with Emma looking on, and which location would be better for that than Neverland?


End file.
